ehghghe
by green bug
Summary: past self rocked honestly
1. Chapter 1

Sillas knocked again, considerably louder this time. Still no answer. Shrugging, the seadweller shouldered open the enormous door (you could drive a scuttlebuggy through that thing) and stepped inside, letting it slam behind him. The noise boomed through the cavernous hive and was replaced by absolutely nothing. Sillas chewed at his unlit sopor-stick. Mirage's hive was never exactly lively, but this felt grim and forboding even by its gloomy standards. He shook himself and pressed on into the unnecessarily large livingblock. Not a troll in sight. "Ahoy, Mirage?" He called, turning slowly amid the imposingly tall armchairs. Somebody had daubed a little grinning face on one in deep blue paint. "It's me, Sillas. You in here somewhere?"

What he had at first taken to be a pile of rags in the corner moved. A pair of familiar curved horns rose into view as she lifted her head.

"What? What is it?" she answered shakily, with a valiant attempt at her usual intimidating aura. The highblood's black clothes were splattered with violent fuchsia, and there was a thin cut across the side of her face.

Sillas's sopor-stick dropped from his mouth. "Bulgeblistering fuck, Mirage, who did that?" He took a step forward and then undid it. She was always weird about being touched, and anyway, they weren't 'rails. Not by a long shot. He glanced around quickly, regretting his decision to not put on a shirt this morning. If whoever did this was still around, they wouldn't have much trouble murdering the shit out of him too.

"None of your business." She lifted her chin a fraction and grabbed the side of a chair to steady herself. "I don't need to explain myself to anyone."

Why are all my friends prickly assholes? Silas wondered. "You're leakin' the future of the fuckin' Alternian empire all over the floor and you got the guts to say it's none a' my business?" An appeal to her duty as Heiress would work best. "Pretty sure your gillslits are fucked too." He felt around with his foot for that dropped sopor stick. Smoking always helped him calm down.

Mirage's hand crept unconsciously up to the side of her neck, and winced.

"Why are you even here?"

He didn't look like he was going to leave, so she gestured to a chair, collapsing into one opposite.

Sillas recovered his stick and sat down, pulling one of his feet onto the opposite knee. "You said you'd got too much sopor on your last delivery and told me to come pick it up. Good thing I did, too." He pulled a lighter out of his silladex and lit up, leaning back into the depths of the chair. "Your gillslits are gonna scab over if you're not careful. What about your ribgills, are they OK?" Her left fin had little puncture marks in it, he noticed. That must sting like crazy.

"I don't know." Mirage dropped her facade and bent over, her head in her hands.

"Why am I doing this?" she whispered. Images flashed unbidden before her eyes...

Abruptly, she straightened up.

"It's not serious, right? I'll be fine! Nothing to worry about..."

The Heiress' hands were clenched around the hem of her cloak.

"It isn't unusual, we fight all the time. It's only natural."

"What? Who?" Sillas sat up a bit. Lecturing her on the finer points of gill care could wait. "C'mon, Mirage, I've known you since we were a couple a' wigglers. You can't expect me to just sit on my ass after something like this." Unfortunately. Honestly, he wanted nothing to do with this business, but... well, Mirage was his friend. A shitty friend, yes, but the point still stood.

Mirage struggled with herself for a minute, and then rolled up her right sleeve. Her arm was riddled with scars, but one stood out from the rest. Carved into her shoulder was a simple sign, two lines.

The symbol of Nifret Alexin.

"We could never be friends. I was too proud, he was too violent. A black pairing waiting to happen."

She bit her lip, and forced a smile.

"So here we are! One of us is going to kill the other someday, but until then..."

"You're joking." Sillas wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "Nifret. Fuckin' Nifret. I mean-" He slumped back in his chair and ran his fingers through his damp hair. "..I can't handle this right now. We can talk about how unspeakably buggered your idea a' blackrom is once you're not bleedin' royalty onto the cushions." The seadweller heaved himself out of the depths of the armchair and stood up. "Your gillslits need lookin' after as well, but that can wait." He really wasn't looking forward to that. From the looks of things the blood had already started to clot in the slits, which meant he was going to have to tease the scabs out with tweezers or something similar, which meant Mirage was going to bitch at him. A lot.

Mirage made a face, but stayed still almost the whole way through. She talked a lot, though.

("Besides, he- AAH, THAT HURTS! What are you trying to do, KILL ME?"

"You have no idea... do you even have a kismesis? What about that other Heiress, she seems to hate everyone."

"If you're just going to make it worse like that, you can bugger off back to your beach and stay there!")

It was getting late, nearly morning already. Mirage was patched up, and almost back to her usual irritable self. She would never admit it, and she certainly didn't mean to tell him, but she was grateful for the help.

"You want a drink?" she asked, sweeping out of the room. The nearest to a thanks her pride would allow.

"That'd be good," replied Sillas, leaning out of a window and blowing greenish clouds into the breeze. About halfway through she'd remembered that he wasn't supposed to smoke in her hive, which was irritating. All it did was tint the ceiling an interesting colour. "Have you got any a' that clear yellow stuff? I can't remember what it's called, somethin' about cuttlefish."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hm? Oh, I know what you mean... Here."

She cracked open a can and poured it out into a tall glass. Grabbing a tray, she hurried back through. They sat in silence for a bit, silence only broken by sipping of drinks and occasional coughs when it went down the wrong way.

Sillas pulled himself back in the window. "On the subject a' Alexin," he began. "Reasonin' obviously isn't goin' to work on somebody that cray. So I'm goin' to try and sic that murderclown who lurks around your hive on him. What's his name, Dosade." It was a win-win situation. Both of them were horrible assholes. In a best-case scenario, neither of them would survive the fight.

Mirage opened her mouth to object when a loud crashing noise came from the hallblock. She got up and grabbed her scythe. A familiar semi-nude purpleblood with subjug facepaint was standing proudly amidst the splintered remains of her front door.

"You locked it." he said, accusingly.

"Yes, to keep you out."

Speak of the devil...

Sillas looked down out of the window. About, oh, twenty meters drop into deep water. Definitely a valid exit if Dosade went for him, which he probably would. Fucking subjugglators. He crossed the room and stood behind Mirage, far enough to the left that she wouldn't hit him with the butt of her scythe by mistake. "Mornin', Dosade. How d'you feel about killing Nifret Alexin?" To his credit he managed to keep his voice steady. That clown scared him shitless, quite possibly due to the psychic miasma of "oh fuck" that followed him around.

He cocked his head and grinned.

"Killing? Oh, yes... A little hobby of mine, I'm afraid." he added, apologetically.

Mirage's palms were sweating, and she she was having a hard time holding onto the polished wooden scythe handle. Sillas was edging slowly towards the window.

"Well?" she demanded, keeping her voice level. "What do you say? I'll pay you."

"No, no. No need for payment. I'll do it just as a favour to a... hmm, what do you call a person who hates your guts and tries to kill you every few days?" He paused, deep in thought. "Well, let's say a favour to a nemesis."

The purpleblood flashed a friendly smile, showing off his pointed teeth.

Sillas could almost see the chucklevoodoos in the air. He was normally pretty good with resisting mindfuckery, but Dosade was a whole other kettle of fish. Strange things were starting to happen in the corners of his eyes. "When does Nifret usually show up?" He asked, addressing Mirage but keeping his eyes on Dosade. He had a skin-crawling feeling that if he took his eyes off him for even a second the other troll would turn into something horrible.

"Well, normally near the end of the night, when nobody else is around." she said. "That way nobody else gets involved."

The plan was already forming in her head.

"I'll bring him outside, then you'll have more room. He's good at fighting in enclosed spaces. Normally, the only weapon he brings is a razor blade. He doesn't need anything else."

Shit shit shit there are people in the walls and it is time to go. Sillas mumbles something like a reply and flings himself out of the window. The cold seawater clears his pan a bit and he takes a few deep breaths, gulping water through and out his gills. As he floats there in the gloom, he wonders whether Dosade is actually a better option than Nifret. At least he seems to grasp what a kismessitude should be about; a rivalry between equals rather than a hormonal stabfest. On the other hand, he's a psionic subjugglator who thinks leaving filial pails of blood in somebody's hive is fucking hilarious.

The pale glow of the sun was fading in on the horizon, as Nifret made his way across the beach to the 'above ground' entry. The ornate gold-plated doors were lying in pieces all over the place, which would have been pretty suspicious if Mirage didn't have so many enemies. He ducked his head as he went through the doorway, his long curved horns skimming the frame. Mirage herself was nowhere to be seen, which was normal. She was probably hiding somewhere with her scythe to try and behead him as he came through the next door. A scuffling noise alerted him to someone's presence, right behind him, and he turned. There she was...

"We need to talk." she said firmly, hands clasped around her weapon. "About... well, us."

"That isn't going to work, you know." Nifret's razor was in his hand already.

"No, I'm serious-"

"Anyone could see through a trap like that. You're not even bothering to hide the scythe. You must be losing your touch." he murmured, grinning.

Mirage propped the scythe against a table and backed away, towards the doorway.

"Look, no weapons, see?" she said, raising both hands above her head. The remains of the door crunched under her feet.

Nifret moved so fast she almost missed it. One moment, he was standing in the hallblock. The next, he was holding the blade to her throat, twisting her hand around so she dropped the small knife she had concealed in her sleeve.

"I'm not that gullible, you know..." he hissed. She allowed herself a small smile.

"Yes you are."

A paint-streaked fist arched around the side of Mirage's head and embedded itself in Nifret's face. His cartilage nub made an absolutely lovely sound as it was crushed into a wet mess. Before the other troll had time to recover, Dosade shouldered Mirage aside, pulled down Nifret's head by the horns and further desecrated his nose by kneeing it into his skull.

Snarling, Nifret stabbed his newfound adversary in the abdomen with Mirage's knife, taking advantage of his exposed position. It was too late, he realised, as the clown's eyes widened. The purple blood dripped off the blade and fell into a mess of unmistakable candy red.

Dosade stared at the red dripping down the other troll's face. It was horrible. It was heresy in liquid form. It was mother fucking gorgeous and he wanted it everywhere, making his skin slippery and his mouth wet and his hair sticky.

Nifret slashed viciously at everything he could reach with his razor, but it seemed to be having little effect. Blood was everywhere, and he was having trouble breathing with his face smashed in like a broken eggshell. He caught a glimpse of Mirage out of the corner of his eye. Her face was impassive, the long scar he had left marring her otherwise perfect face, and he hated her. He had always hated her, but this... this was different. But he should have expected no less from an Heiress. The knife was just out of reach, lying on the floor, with sand sticking to the blood all over it.

Dosade hit him in the mouth, cutting his knuckles open in the process. He was winning, to the suprise of nobody at fucking all. A disciple of the Mirthful Messiahs against a filthy heretic. It wasn't really a contest at all. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was bleeding too much, but he didn't give two shits about that. There was mutant blood all over his hands just like he'd wanted, but not enough yet. Grabbing the blasphemer by the horn again, he wrenched his head to the side and bit deep into his neck. Beautiful scarlet gushed into his mouth and drip, drip, dripped to the colorful floor.

Nifret felt as if he was on fire, every inch of him in agony. He tried to lift his left arm, the only unbroken limb he now possessed, but it was trapped underneath him. A lot of blood was in his eyes, and he could only just see the two watching figures.

Using all the strength he could muster, he screamed.

"No! Finish me yourself, bitch! Don't let it end like this!"

He broke off, choking on his own blood. Mirage glanced at him, and then slowly and deliberately turned away. Wrenching his hand free, the candyblood grabbed a shard of metal from the broken door and drove it into his torn neck.

A few minutes later, Dosade's head cleared enough for him to sit up. Blood was caking all over his chest, a good amount of it purple. Looked like a visit to Svilca was in order, but that could wait. Crawling over to the heretic's corpse, he dipped his fingers in it and turned to the nearest clean bit of wall. All he had was red and purple, but he was sure he could paint something damn miraculous with those two colours.

Mirage hadn't looked around since the screaming had started, but when she did, she instantly regretted it. Blood, two clashing hues, was splattered across the sandy beach, Nifret's mangled body lying in the centre. Dosade was gigging quietly to himself, covered in the stuff. Time to leave. Sillas had already made a dash for it, so she followed suit, diving into the sea and disappearing in a seething mass of bubbles. Feeling more than slightly sick, she unlocked her underwater entrance and shut the door behind her. This part of her hive was sealed off from the rest, a sensible precaution. The door alone was three inches thick. He couldn't reach her here. Hopefully.

Dosade's fingerpainting was interrupted by none other than the fucking sun. Hissing with pain from his stiff wounds, he dashed across the damp sand and into the cool of Mirage's hive, dragging what he'd left of the doors shut behind him to keep out enterprising undead. After locating the ablutionblock, he filled the ablution trap with water and submerged himself up to the neck, wincing again as the water sank into his wounds. Once the excess gore was cleaned off, he had a good look at himself. Thanks be to the Messiahs, that shitblood hadn't pierced anything important with his razor. He was going to get some very pretty scars out of this escapade. Giggling slightly, he lay back in the water. The death of a blasphemer, a new set of scars, and a potential kismessitude with the Heiress herself all in one night! Truly, it was good to be alive.


End file.
